Fingerprints
by Emerald1
Summary: Don't know why the formatting went all wierd. After the holidays I'll fix and start posting agian. Nigel Crane touched Nick's life in many ways, how will he learn to cope? Please RR
1. Realizations

Fingerprints  
  
  
  
"It's not over for me. It's over for Jane Gallaway." -- Nick Stokes  
  
  
  
Sara signed off on the last page of the printout and closed the folder. Every case she concluded the same way – paperwork filed away, then an order of Chinese and a bubble bath to wash away the memories. She grabbed a new pen out of the drawer and dropped the old one into the trash. Now she was ready to leave the building and Nick's stalker behind her.  
  
The corridors were busy with the change of shift, and she walked quickly through her co-workers, never acknowledging any of them until one familiar face caught her attention. She turned back and entered the fingerprint lab.  
  
"Nick, what are you doing here? You're suppose to be resting; the case is closed." She studied him closely, his exhaustion was apparent.  
  
"Not for me." There was something in his tone of voice that she didn't recognize.  
  
"Nick?"  
  
He finally looked up and made eye contact with his friend. His expression was closed off, distant. "I need to know how much of my life he invaded." Nick went back to what he was doing, effectively dismissing her. Sara watched for a moment, noting the slight tremble in his hands before she left to find Grissom.  
  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
  
Gil Grissom, Catherine Willows, and Warrick Brown were finishing the last details on their own paperwork in the conference room when Sara burst in. She didn't waste any time on pleasantries, "Grissom, did you know that Nick was here, working?"  
  
Gil didn't look as surprised as the rest of his team. "On what?"  
  
"The doctor hasn't given him clearance to come back to work yet. What in the hell does he think he's doing?" Warrick made no attempt to hide the worry and anger that had been eating at him since the stalker had thrown Nick out of a second story window. "He's gonna end up back in the hospital if he's not careful."  
  
Sara nodded, "He's working on the stalker case."  
  
"He's got to learn to let this go." Catherine pushed the papers away from her before leaning her elbows on the table. "Otherwise it's going to eat him alive."  
  
Grissom looked thoughtfully at the others. "No, I think he need to follow this through. What was he doing, exactly?"  
  
"Fingerprint analysis. He's got to have a thousand prints that he's pulled."  
  
"Really? Let's see what he's got." Grissom led the way out the door, confident that the rest of the group would follow him.  
  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
  
Catherine was the last one to leave the room, and then she had to double step to catch up with Grissom before he entered the lab. "I can't believe you're encouraging this."  
  
Gil didn't bother to answer her before he entered the lab. Once inside, he observed the young man bent over the table. He moved closer and cleared his throat, hoping to not startle Nick. Nick tensed, but gave no other acknowledgement of their presence. Gil took another step closer. "Nick, Sara tells me you've been busy." Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the others move closer.  
  
Nick continued to process the prints, sorting them into two piles as he finished with them. "I'm sure she did." The shaking in his hands became more noticeable as he reached for the next sample.  
  
Catherine reached across the table and grasped his hand. "Nick, honey, we all understand how difficult this has been for you. But you need to put it behind you now, and move on."  
  
"Yeah, man, let us help you." Warrick moved even closer and this time Nick reacted, pulling his hand away from Catherine and began to pace in the small room.  
  
"You don't get it, do you?" Nick picked up the fingerprint sheets and shook them at his coworkers. "Nigel's fingerprints!" He took the first sheet off the stack he held and slammed it down on the worktable next to Sara. She jumped, but remained silent. "This one came off my coffee maker." The rest of the sheets joined the first. "A jar of relish in my refrigerator. The trophies in the living room. The handle of my damn toothbrush!" Nick leaned against the table and took a deep breath, in an obvious attempt to calm himself. He pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes as he continued in a lower voice. "The box of condoms in my nightstand – hell, he handled every packet in it. Some even have saliva on them."  
  
"Oh my God." Catherine paled visibly.  
  
Nick looked at her for a second before focusing on a spot on the far wall. "I found his hair in my hairbrush."  
  
"Nick…" Gil's voice trailed off as Nick continued.  
  
"When I did my laundry the last couple of times, I'd be missing stuff."  
  
This time Catherine made no attempt to move closer to the hurting young man. "What kind of things, Nick?"  
  
Apparently, the wall had lost interest, as Nick's gaze moved to the floor, his hands rubbing the back of his neck. "Some boxers and a couple of T- shirts."  
  
Sara shook her head as she insisted on a rational explanation. "Come on, Nick, you lost them at the Laundromat." Warrick hastened to agree.  
  
"Yeah, man, it happens to the best of us."  
  
Gil hitched one hip up on the edge of the table as he studied Nick's reactions. "Nick, I know this is hard, but you need to sort out the emotions from the evidence. Do you have any proof…" One glance at Nick gave him his answer.  
  
"I found them in the attic, shoved between the insulation and the joists. In case anybody's interested, the semen stains on them aren't mine. Neither are the semen stains on the insulation next to the peepholes he had into my bedroom and my bathroom." He pinched the bridge of his nose as his words faded out.  
  
Warrick moved closer and this time Nick didn't pull away. "Headache?"  
  
"Yeah." His energy spent, Nick's words were barely audible as he swayed backwards. Warrick grabbed his arm before he tipped over.  
  
"You have a concussion, my man. You keep pushing yourself like this, you're going to end up back in the hospital."  
  
Gil moved up and steadied Nick from the other side. "That's right. Let Warrick take you home." He felt the shudder that passed through the young man at the word 'home' and immediately understood. Softening his voice, and bending down to look at the downcast face, he changed his tactics. "Where are you staying?" Behind him, Catherine slipped out, unobserved.  
  
"The Regency." The pull of exhaustion was harder and harder to ignore as Nick fought to keep his eyes open.  
  
Warrick rubbed his hand across Nick's shoulder, wincing in sympathy at the tight muscles there. "You're gonna stay at my place for a while, all right?"  
  
Before he could formulate a response, Catherine returned carrying Nick's coat. Gil moved out of the way as she slid Nick's unresponsive arms into it. Catherine pulled the zipper up as she pressed a soft kiss against his cheek, careful of his recent injuries. "Stay with Warrick, ok?"  
  
Nick pulled back, saw the troubled, concerned faces of his friends surrounding him, and silently nodded his agreement.  
  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
  
The remaining three members of the team returned to the conference room. Several members of the day unit noticed their presence, but decided not to interfere. Catherine stared at the steam rising from her coffee cup. "We really blew it. We should have gone through Nick's place with a fine toothed comb. He shouldn't have been the one to find all of that.  
  
Sara shook her head. "I never thought he'd get that paranoid about all this."  
  
"Is he?" Grissom looked at the woman across the table from him.  
  
"You don't think he's a little obsessive about this?" Sara stared at her boss. "I mean, Nigel Crane is probably going to spend the rest of his life in prison. Don't you think Nick should accept that and move on?"  
  
Catherine leaned forward and looked at Sara. "Could you? Really, Sara, think about it. To know that someone was watching your every move would be bad enough, but to find out that he's handled everything you own… I'd be more than a little freaked out."  
  
Gil interrupted them. "Ladies! As fascinating as this is, it isn't helping Nick. So the question is, what would?"  
  
Both Catherine and Sara turned to stare at him. Sara raised an eyebrow, while Catherine vocalized the question. "What do you mean?"  
  
"Simple. If Nigel Crane had invaded your life, what would you want done first to get him out of it." Gil pulled a battered leather book out of his briefcase and began looking through it as he spoke.  
  
Sara snorted and shrugged her shoulders. "I'd want him in jail, which is where he's going to be for a very long time."  
  
"No, that's not the first step for Nick, at least it wouldn't be for me." Catherine nodded, as she understood where Grissom was headed. "I'd want every trace of him out of my home. I'd want every peephole removed, everything he ever touched scrubbed clean."  
  
"Why not just move, start over? It's just a house."  
  
Catherine knew that Sara didn't understand the problem. "Sara, tell me about where you live."  
  
"Where I live? I've got an apartment, you know that, Catherine."  
  
"Why'd you chose it?"  
  
"I don't know, it was close to work – convenient to everything. What are you getting at?" Sara leaned back, trying to follow where this conversation was going.  
  
"Can you see yourself living there five years from now?"  
  
"Probably not, so what? Catherine, what does this have to do with Nick not letting go of this?"  
  
"What do you remember about the house you grew up in?" Catherine leaned forward, waiting her response.  
  
"Which one?" Sara gave a short laugh. "My folks moved into a bigger house every time my dad got a promotion."  
  
Gil finally looked up and joined the conversation. "Nick's grandfather gave his parents ten acres as a wedding present. It was part of the ranch the Stokes family has had for over 100 years. Seven kids, they had to add on a few times, but they still live there. It's part of who they are, who Nick is."  
  
"And so, when Nick moved here…" Sara was thinking out loud, her words slow and thoughtful. "He didn't rent an apartment, he bought a house to establish the same, what, security?"  
  
"Security, permanence, identity, the point is, to Nick, it's all the same thing. And that's what Crane violated. Grissom paused, then focused on Sara. Did you notice those ceilings in his place?"  
  
"Yeah, they were beautiful. Not exactly what you find in today's track home, though." In fact, Sara had been surprised by the understated elegance she had seen in Nick's home.  
  
Grissom smiled to himself. He knew exactly what the younger woman was thinking. "That's because he installed them himself. They're a replica of the ceilings in his grandparents' home."  
  
Catherine tossed down her pen in disgust. "And Nigel Crane drilled holes through them so he could spy on Nick. Then he destroyed them when Pierson's body fell through." She paused, rubbing her temples as she thought, before turning to Grissom. "Even if we restore his place to perfection, is it going to be enough? Nick's a strong guy, but everyone has their limits. I think he's going to need more help than some drywall and a gallon of paint."  
  
"That leads to another question." Gil and Catherine turned to listen to Sara. "A lot of strong men find it hard to accept help. Will Nick be willing to take it?"  
  
"You ladies worry about the repairs, I'll take care of the rest." Grissom gathered up his things and moved towards the door. "Catherine, I've already told Nick's insurance company that you will be the one they will be dealing with. Hope you don't mind."  
  
"What! Mind? Gris…where are you going?"  
  
Gil didn't even turn around. "Got to go see a man. Catch you two later." 


	2. the collapse

Warrick pulled into his assigned parking space at his complex and shut off the engine, leaning heavily on the steering wheel. Behind him, he heard the reassuring thump of the automatic gate closing across the drive into the underground parking lot. Until recently, he never thought about the building's security. Until he saw a psycho turn his best friend's life upside down, the friend who was so silently slumped against the passenger door.  
  
"Nick? Hey man, we're here." He reached out and tapped the other man's arm. His touch was gentle, the reaction was not. Nick jerked away from him, banging his injured wrist on the door.  
  
"Ow, shit…what…" Nick sat up, cradling his wrist, and looked around. "Where are we?"  
  
"Sorry, man. I didn't mean to startle you." Warrick winced in sympathy. We're at my place, remember?" When he was answered with a shaky nod, he continued. "Let me grab your bag and come around on your side before you get out." Nick seemed lost in his thoughts, so Warrick scrambled out, grabbing the gym bag he had collected at Nick's motel.  
  
The passenger door opened and Nick stumbled out before Warrick could reach him. Nick steadied himself on the doorframe until Warrick grasped his arm. "Hey, I thought you were going to wait for me?"  
  
"I'm all right." Nick closed his eyes, trying to will away the dizziness. When he opened them, the worry and the fear he saw in his friend's face stunned him.  
  
"Humor me, okay?" Warrick waited until he saw Nick relax, then he slipped his arm around Nick and guided him towards the elevator. He didn't release the other man until he had deposited him on the bed in his apartment.  
  
Warrick silently stripped the other man down to his boxers. Finally he crouched down next to the bed and placed his hand on Nick's knee. "Do you want something to eat before you go to sleep?"  
  
"Actually, I want a shower. You mind?"  
  
"No problem. Are you steady enough?" Warrick grasped Nick's chin and tilted his face up to look at him. He seemed more alert than he had been down in the garage, so he patted Nick's knee and stood up. "There's a clean towel hanging up in there, I'll grab you some clothes."  
  
Warrick swung the gym bag up onto the bed as Nick made his way to the adjoining bathroom. As he heard the water start, he began the task of unpacking. The bag seemed light and sure enough only carried the bare essentials. What surprised Warrick though were the tags. The clothes were new – Nick had taken nothing from his home with him to the motel. Shaking his head, he yanked the tags off a pair of boxers and a set of sweats, leaving the rest for later. Warrick dumped the rest of the clothes back in the bag and set it on the dresser before heading for the bathroom. Halfway across the room he stopped and returned to turn down the bed, figuring Nick would just want to crawl in and go to sleep. As he stood, a crash sounded from the bathroom.  
  
"Nick!" Warrick rushed into the room, not bothering to knock. Through the shower door he could see the other man slumped on the shower floor. "Come on, buddy, talk to me" Warrick pulled the door open and shut off the water before bending down to check on Nick. "No blood, that's good. Nick, can you hear me?"  
  
His gentle pats to the face were met with a soft moan as Nick slowly opened his eyes. "What happened?" He appeared dazed and confused.  
  
Warrick reached up and pulled the towel down off the rack and draped it over Nick before answering. "I was hoping you could tell me. Were you dizzy or did you slip?"  
  
Nick thought for a second. "I think I just got wobbly for a minute. I'm okay now, let me up, man."  
  
"Not so fast. Let's check you out a little bit first." Warrick ran his hands over Nick's head, encountering a rapidly forming lump. "Looks like you hit your head again. Got a matched set of bumps back there. Do you have any pain in your neck or your back?"  
  
"No, my headache is a little bit worse, but that's the only thing that hurts." Nick shifted in an attempt to get up, but was pushed back into place.  
  
"What about your wrist?" This was the first time Warrick had seen Nick's wrist without the brace and was shocked at how swollen and bruised it looked. He braced Nick's arm near the elbow and let the rest of his arm rest against his own. The fine tremors in Nick's hand became apparent. He pinched the skin on Nick's forearm and was shocked at how slowly it bounced back.  
  
Suspicious as to the cause of his friend's collapse, Warrick checked the pulse on Nick's uninjured wrist. It was slower than normal and to Warrick's sensitive fingers, not as strong as it should have been. "Nick, when was the last time you ate?"  
  
"Ate?" Nick's brow wrinkled as he thought about the question. "Umm, at the hospital. The doctor made me eat something before she released me, remember?"  
  
"Shit." The subvocalization was too soft for Nick to hear. "Nick, that was Jell-O, two days ago. Are you saying that you haven't had anything else since then?"  
  
"Wasn't hungry. Sorry."  
  
Warrick studied the crumpled man in front of him. Nick was only a year younger than himself, but right now he seemed much younger. "No, man, it's our fault. We should have taken better care of you. If I help you, do you think you can make it to the car, or do need an ambulance?"  
  
"I'm not going back to the hospital, I'm fine."  
  
"You are not fine."  
  
"All right, I'm cold and wet and tired. That isn't something to go to the hospital for."  
  
For a second Warrick was going to argue, until he realized in front of him was a man desperate to regain control of his own life. Control that Nigel Crane, in his insanity, had ripped away from his gentle friend. Something that he and the rest of his colleagues had failed to notice.  
  
"All right, I'll make you a deal." Nick looked at him suspiciously and waited for him to continue. "Let's get you dried off and into bed. I'll call the doctor and bring her up to date with what's been happening. If she thinks your fall could be something more serious, then we'll go in; otherwise, we'll stay here. Sound fair?"  
  
"Yeah, okay." This time when Nick tried to stand up, Warrick pulled him upright. After a quick adjustment of the towel, he had Nick out of the shower and seated on the closed toilet.  
  
"Can you stay put for a minute while I grab another towel?" As soon as he saw Nick nod, Warrick was out the door and to the closet. He grabbed another towel and was back to Nick before the younger man could move at all. The damp skin was dried as Warrick carefully maneuvered around the dozens of bruises that peppered Nick's arms and back. Eventually, Warrick was satisfied and helped his friend dress.  
  
"Ready?" Nick nodded and let Warrick pull him to his feet. His uninjured arm was pulled up over Warrick's shoulder. Warrick had one arm securely wrapped around Nick's waist; the other cradled the sprained wrist. When they reached the bed, Warrick gently turned him and eased him down onto it. Nothing was said as he lifted Nick's legs and slid them under the covers. Once he had Nick settled and the blankets wrapped around him, Warrick sat down on the edge of the bed.  
  
"Buddy, where are your pain pills? I need the doctor's name off the bottle." Warrick shook his arm slightly, forcing him to stay awake.  
  
"Mmm…coat. Coat pocket." Nick snuggled further down, comfortable in the large waterbed.  
  
Warrick found the bottle and began dialing the phone, moving away from Nick to let him rest.  
  
"Yes, Emergency room? Is Dr. Morgan on duty tonight? It's about a patient she saw there. Yeah, I'll hold." The wait was surprisingly brief before she was on the line.  
  
Nick watched his friend through shuttered eyes. His name was mentioned a few times, but he couldn't force himself to wake up enough to understand what was being said. Eventually, the bed swayed and he forced himself to wake up enough to know what was happening. Dark fingers moved towards him and then his eyes were opened wide and exposed to a bright light. The bed shifted again as Warrick moved away, and he drifted away again.  
  
Warrick keyed off the phone and leaned heavily against the dresser. Morgan hadn't reamed him, but he could hear the censure in her voice. They had definitely fallen down on the job. Chastising himself again, he moved back to Nick's side.  
  
"Nick, you awake, buddy?" Warrick carefully replaced the wrist brace as he spoke to the semi-aware man. "I talked to the doctor and she seems to think you collapsed because you're exhausted and you haven't been eating. She said that you don't have to go back to the hospital unless things get worse."  
  
There was a pause in the voice and Nick realized that he was expecting a response. "I'll be fine."  
  
"Yeah, man, I know." Warrick gently pulled the bandage off Nick's forehead, wincing in sympathy as Nick winced. "But I need to wake you up every hour to check on that hard head of yours, and you need to eat. Okay?"  
  
"You cooking?" Nick opened one eye to see the reaction.  
  
The humor in his tone eased some of Warrick's worry. "Very funny. Even I can warm up canned soup." He patted Nick on the shoulder. "Let me re- bandage that cut before you doze off on me again."  
  
Nick was asleep before he returned with the first aid kit and had no reaction to Warrick's quiet care as his forehead was bandaged and the other cuts and scrapes were treated with ointment.  
  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
  
Warrick took the portable phone with him into the kitchen and dialed a familiar number as he dug through his cupboard for a can of soup.  
  
Grissom.  
  
"Yeah, it's Warrick."  
  
How's Nick doing, is he getting any rest?  
  
Warrick pulled out a can of cream of tomato soup and began opening it. "He's a mess, Gris. He hasn't eaten since all this started, and I don't think he's slept. He collapsed in the shower."  
  
What!  
  
"Yeah, scared the hell out of me. I called the doctor that treated him at the hospital. She wanted to know why his family wasn't taking better care of him." He turned the stove on low and leaned against the counter. "When a case is over, we turn the victim over to their family and just walk away. We never give it a second thought." His own guilt was echoed in Grissom's voice.  
  
We're his family here.  
  
"And we fell down on the job. How do we fix it, man?"  
  
By making up for it now. Warrick could hear an engine shutting down over the phone line. Catherine and Sara are taking care of the house, you concentrate on Nick. I'm meeting someone at the University.  
  
"The University? Who's there?" Warrick poured a glass of milk and grabbed a water bottle out of the refrigerator and set them on the tray he was preparing.  
  
A Professor Mitchell Hamilton in the psychology department. We've learned a great deal about the physical damage a stalker can do; now it's time to learn about the emotional damage. 


	3. First Steps

Catherine Willows pulled up in the driveway where Nick would normally have parked. From there, the house looked relatively untouched – not even the yellow crime scene tape was visible from this angle. She looked at the woman seated next to her. "You ready?"  
  
Sara nodded as she opened her door and slid out. "Let's get this done. When is the insurance guy coming to inspect the damage?"  
  
"Not for a couple of hours. I called a friend in construction to come out and take a look first. I want to have a better idea about what kind of repairs we're looking at before the adjuster gets here."  
  
"Is he still as cute as ever?" It was the worst kept secret at CSI that Catherine had started dating the district engineer – as soon as she stopped butting heads with him.  
  
"I hadn't noticed. You'll have to ask his new girlfriend." As they walked up the sidewalk, she handed Sara a clipboard before slipping on a pair of gloves. "Here, why don't you write down all the damage we notice as we do our walk-through."  
  
Sara gave a grim smile. "Gee, thanks."  
  
"You're welcome." Catherine smiled at Sara's tone. "First item of damage, this lawn's been all torn up. It's probably going to need to be patched."  
  
"Won't it grow back?" Sara nudged at the deep gouges with the toe of her shoe.  
  
Catherine shook her head. "That would take months. Nick shouldn't have to have any visible reminders of what happened."  
  
"Front door's trashed." Sara spoke as she took notes. "Looks like the door frame and trim is shot too." Behind her, Catherine began snapping pictures of the damage. "Didn't we get all the pictures we needed of the crime scene that night?" There was a pause; the Sara answered her own question. "We didn't take pictures of the door."  
  
"That's right, but why didn't we?"  
  
"It wasn't part of the evidence. Nigel Crane didn't use the front door. Brass and the uniforms broke it down to get in. We didn't give it a second thought at the time."  
  
"No we didn't." Catherine fumbled with the hasp lock that was temporarily holding the door shut. "We've always looked at a scene for the evidence. Now we need to look at it from the victim's standpoint. We need to look at the damage done by everybody that night."  
  
It took over an hour and many rolls of film to record all the damage one night of terror had done. When she was finished, Catherine looked around to find Sara. The younger woman was in the kitchen, mesmerized by the contents of the open refrigerator.  
  
"Sara?"  
  
"Nick was right. That sick bastard had his hands on everything, look." Sara's gloved finger touched a carton of milk, shadowed with various forensic powders. "He even drank out of the carton. Crane is one creepy weirdo."  
  
Behind her, Catherine studied the refrigerator door, then pulled a stack of lab notes out of her case. "The refrigerator door handle tested positive for saliva, too.  
  
Sara pulled back and stared at her latex covered hands. "That is so gross. Does Nick know about that?"  
  
"He's the one that ran the tests." As upset as Catherine was, she was glad that Sara was finally seeing the scene through the eyes of the victim. "No wonder he worked himself into such a state of exhaustion." Sara nodded, but never took her eyes off her gloved hands. Catherine had to smile. "Would you like another pair of gloves, Sara?"  
  
"Yeah." She couldn't strip them off fast enough.  
  
Both women jumped when a loud voice rang out. "Hey, anybody here?" Paul Newsome stood, examining the shattered doorframe, unaware of the effect his yell had had.  
  
"Paul, umm, we're in the kitchen." Catherine turned her back on her grinning companion and walked around the counter to greet him in the living room. "Thanks for coming. We really want to make sure that everything is as perfect as we can get it before Nick moves back in.  
  
"Nick, huh, should I be jealous?"  
  
"He's the closest thing I have to a little brother in Vegas. By the way, how is Bambi, or was it Bunny?  
  
"Actually, it was Becky, and we're not seeing each other any more. Just because I was stupid enough to let the best thing I've ever had get away from me, doesn't mean that I'm always an idiot. He looked flushed and Sara decided it was time for a little diversion.  
  
"As fascinating as it is to rehash ancient history, we don't have that much time before the insurance adjuster arrives.  
  
"You're right." Paul gave his most winning smile, hoping it had the same affect on Catherine as it had during the last investigation they had worked together.  
  
Willows didn't return the smile, but she didn't seem as grim as she had a few moments earlier. "Why don't we start in the attic. You go on up, the access panel is in the back hallway closet. I need to get the ALS."  
  
Paul watched the retreating figure before turning back to Sara. "ALS?"  
  
"Alternative Light Source. It shows things that aren't visible to the naked eye." She reached into her case and pulled out another pair of gloves.  
  
"What kind of things?"  
  
"Mostly, body fluid residue. Here, I think you'll want these." She held the gloves up and waited for him to take them. He looked rather green as he slipped them on.  
  
"I'll wait for Catherine up there." He was still staring at his hands as he walked down the hall.  
  
Did Paul already go up?" Catherine elbowed her way through the door with the ALS. When no answer was forthcoming, she found Sara back in the kitchen, her head in the refrigerator. "Sara?"  
  
"Oh, yeah. He's waiting for you up there." She turned around, keeping the refrigerator door open. "What do we do with all this food that Nigel's slobbered on?"  
  
Catherine shifted the strap on her shoulder as she set the colored glasses on the top of her head. "Would you want to eat it?" She didn't wait for an answer, instead moving into the hallway. Behind her she could head the sound of items being dropped in the garbage.  
  
"Cath?" Paul's voice sounded a bit shaky to her ears as she climbed through the small access panel. "This weirdo is in jail, right? I mean, we don't have to worry about him coming back to the scene of the crime, right?"  
  
"With any luck he won't be out for a very long time." Catherine pulled her glasses down onto her face before handing the spare pair to Newsome.  
  
"What do you mean, with any luck?" Paul pointed to one of the nearby peepholes. "This guy is seriously nuts."  
  
"Hopefully, the courts won't find him too nuts." She turned on the light, and waited for the obvious question. When he just stared at her, slack- jawed, she took pity on him. "If he's found incompetent to stand trial, then he'll be sent to a mental hospital instead of prison."  
  
"Then what? Convince some doctor that he's cured, and be released?"  
  
"Stranger things have happened." Catherine swept the blue light in a controlled pattern around the peephole near Newsome. Multiple large splatters were apparent. "Oh, God."  
  
"What?" He looked around, not seeing anything, before realizing that the glasses were still in his hand. Once he put them on, what Catherine had been upset about became visible to him. "Is that urine?"  
  
Willows bit back a smile. "Wrong body fluid. This peephole was Nigel's view into Nick's bedroom. That one," she paused as she moved the light to a different area, "is the one over the bathroom." The second area glowed just as much as the first.  
  
"Wrong body fluid? What…you mean…Oh my God…are you sure?" The green tint on Newsome's face wasn't entirely from the reflection of the ALS.  
  
"Yeah, I'm sure. Now that you've seen it, if this were your house, how would you want it fixed, Paul? She took pity on the man and turned off the light, hiding the revolting evidence. Below them the phone rang twice before Sara's voice softly filtered through, but they both ignored the intrusion.  
  
He didn't have to think about the question. "If this were my house, I'd want every bit of insulation yanked out and replaced. I'd want big sections of the ceiling replaced, not just the peepholes patched, and…" he turned and pointed at the ventilation duct that Nigel had broken loose and used as his entrance. "I'd want that vent rebuilt so nothing and no one could ever get through it."  
  
For the first time since she had pulled into the driveway Catherine allowed herself to truly smile. "Now we just have to convince the insurance adjuster of that."  
  
"Leave that to me." Paul relaxed enough to return the smile. "That is why you asked me to join you, isn't it?"  
  
"Catherine!" The moment was ended when Sara scrambled through the opening into the attic. "That phone call…"  
  
Willows put her hands out, protecting herself from the fast moving Sidle. "Whoa, Sara, what happened? Who was on the phone?"  
  
Sara took a deep breath and composed herself. "That was Rocky Mountain Kennels. They were concerned because Nick hasn't picked up his dog yet."  
  
"Nick doesn't have a dog." Catherine seemed puzzled by this turn of events.  
  
"No, but Jane Gallaway did." 


	4. More

Grissom pulled into the visitor parking lot closest to the psychology department. Rather than purchasing a temporary parking permit, he just tossed this LVPD placard on the dashboard before climbing out with his briefcase. It had been months since he had been here, but remembered the way quite easily.  
  
Once outside the office of Professor Mitchell Hamilton he paused and straightened his jacket. He rapped on the doorframe before allowing the partially open door to swing the rest of the way. "Professor Hamilton?"  
  
The figure behind the desk was almost gaunt in appearance. Gil remembered vaguely that he had been ill for quite some time. Unkempt hair shadowed the man's face even more; he looked more like the depraved individuals he treated than the world-renowned expert he was.  
  
"Mr. Grissom?" He stood up and extended one hand to the investigator, his left hand still held the fountain pen he had been writing with. "I must admit your phone call piqued my interest. The news media has not given a great deal of detail about the case."  
  
Gil shook the man's hand and took the seat that was offered. "I didn't realize that you were already following it."  
  
Hamilton stared at Grissom, one corner of his mouth turned up. "I've been studying the stalking phenomenon for the last five years. Your Mr. Crane is a bit of an oddity. I've only uncovered a few cases where the stalking victim was a male and never have I seen a case where the stalker was interested in both men and women."  
  
"When I heard you lecture last fall, I thought you were researching psychological terrorism, I was surprised to hear you'd switched over to the stalker phenomenon." Gil studied the man closely, he wasn't sure if he wanted him near Nick.  
  
The professor leaned back in his chair. "Really, sir, what's the difference? Governments have used psychological terrorism for decades to control its people. A stalker is just using it on a more personal basis.  
  
Gil raised an eyebrow. "I never thought of it that way. How do you help a victim recover? Can you help him?"  
  
"I'm surprised; I thought that crime scene investigators didn't get involved with the victim's recovery."  
  
A surprising burst of nervous energy shot through Gil and he began to pace, the room suddenly not large enough. "The victim was a member of my team. I guess this affects us all, and we're just beginning to understand just how much."  
  
The silence seemed to resonate, building momentum as it echoed around the room, waiting for Professor Hamilton to give an answer. This lack of control was something new to Grissom and he had already decided that he didn't like it.  
  
The fountain pen made a whistling noise as it dropped from the professor's hand to the mahogany desktop, or so it seemed to Grissom's overactive mind. The clatter it made upon landing was real enough, however. "Most of my work is with the assailant, not the victim, but I'll bring in a colleague of mine that should be able to help. We'll want to start with Mr. Crane first. We need to understand him to be able to understand what he has done."  
  
Gil let out a breath he didn't know he was holding as he opened his briefcase. His unease didn't disappear entirely, but it did seem to lessen. "Thank you. Let me introduce you to Nigel Crane's world."  
  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
  
Warrick eased open the bedroom door, letting the hall light illuminate the room. His guest was curled up on the far edge of the bed, the blankets wrapped tightly around him. "Nick, hey Nick." He kept his voice low, hoping to wake him gradually. Nick shifted slightly, and Warrick increased his volume.  
  
"Nick, hey sorry, but you need to wake up for a few minutes. Nick?" He waited, and Nick slowly opened his eyes, blinking in the dim light.  
  
"Yeah, I'm awake. What's up?" Nick rolled onto his back, but was too tangled to move much more than that.  
  
The tall investigator moved closer and set a bottle of water on the nightstand. "Just you, buddy. The doctor wants me to check on that hard head of yours, and you need to drink some water. Do you think you can do that for me?" Without waiting for a response he started to loosen the bedding and then helped Nick to sit up.  
  
Nick obediently drank the offered water and let Warrick shine a penlight in his eyes before drifting back to sleep. Satisfied, Warrick picked up the bottle and moved back into the kitchen. This time the number he dialed wasn't as familiar and he had to look it up before he dialed.  
  
Hello.  
  
"Hey, Greg, it's Warrick."  
  
Yeah, Warrick, umm, how's Nick doing? I heard he's staying at your place.  
  
"He's not so good, Greg." Warrick took a deep breath and gave the lab technician the short version of what had transpired. "Until he's in a little better shape, I don't think I should leave him alone. That's why I was wondering if you could do me a favor."  
  
Damn, that's got to be rough. What can I do?  
  
Barely paying attention, Warrick listed off the needed groceries as he moved back down the hall and watched the sleeping form in the bed. Nick shuddered and pulled the blankets closer to him. Somehow Warrick felt much older as he watched over his friend.  
  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
  
Catherine joined Sara down in the living room of Nick's home. Through the large hole in the ceiling they could see Paul Newsome as he measured joists and assessed the structural damage caused by Nigel Crane. "What did you tell the kennel about the dog?" Sara mechanically bagged the debris littering the floor.  
  
"I explained that the actual owner was murdered and that Nick was one of the investigators on the case. They've agreed to take care of the dog until a new home is found. The question is, what do we tell Nick?"  
  
"We don't tell him anything." Catherine's answer was resounding enough to even catch Newsome's attention up in the attic. "This is hard enough for him; he doesn't need to know that Nigel took the dog with him and what he did with it. We're just going to let them find a new home for the dog and that will be the end of it." She looked over, then up at her two companions. "Understood?"  
  
They both knew her well enough not to argue. 


	5. Meet the neighbors

The alarm clock chimed as another hour passed and Warrick climbed out of his chair, stretching his arms overhead. He turned up the jazz on the stereo as he moved down the hallway. Once inside the bedroom, he turned on a side light before moving to the bed. "Nick? Nick, you need to wake up again."  
  
Warrick stepped back as Nick sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. Once he was sitting upright, Warrick moved closer then had to back up again as Nick stood up. "Where are you going?"  
  
Nick gave him a lopsided grin. "Well, since I got here, you've poured soup, milk, and who knows how many bottles of water down my throat. Where do you think I'm going?" Without waiting for an answer, he shuffled towards the bathroom door.  
  
"Do you need any help?" With his long legs, it only took a few steps for Warrick to catch his friend.  
  
His grin grew even wider as he turned his head. "Not since I was about two, but thanks." Before the other man could come up with a suitable comeback, Nick had the bathroom door closed.  
  
Warrick laughed at the door that had shut in his face. Every glimmer of humor from Nick showed him that his friend was still intact, under all that pain. The sounds coming from behind the door were muffled, but the familiar squeal of the pipes in the sink told him when Nick was done.  
  
Warrick shadowed him back to the bed, then carefully tucked him in. "How do you feel, do you need a pain pill?"  
  
"Nah, I'm all right." Nick pulled at the bedding, wrinkling it and settling himself into a more comfortable position.  
  
"Stay awake for a few minutes. Okay?" Warrick tapped at Nick's foot to get his attention. "We need to get some more food into you." He waited while Nick pulled himself into a more upright position before moving out of the room.  
  
Nick didn't have long to wait before Warrick was back in the room with a tray. Whatever was in the bowl smelled vaguely of cinnamon, but Nick didn't comment until the tray was on his lap. "Rice pudding? Man, I haven't had this since I was a kid."  
  
"Yeah, my grandmother would make it for me when I was sick."  
  
"Did you…"  
  
Warrick knew the question being asked. "Sorry, man, it's store bought. Grams never shares her recipes. Greg went to the store for us." Warrick laughed at the expression on Nick's face. "Don't worry, he had a list."  
  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
  
The sound of a vehicle pulling up told Catherine and Sara that the insurance adjuster had arrived. Behind them, Paul scrambled down from the attic, indicating that he had heard the man's arrival also. He gave Catherine a look that she recognized from years of working with Grissom and she grabbed Sara's arm, keeping them in the background as Newsome moved to the door.  
  
"Randy Hall, it's good to see you." Paul pumped the man's arm in greeting as he moved him into the living room.  
  
Nick's insurance adjuster seemed rattled by the presence of the county's engineer. "Paul…Mr. Newsome…I wasn't expecting you to be here. We weren't aware that there was that much damage done."  
  
"I've taken a personal interest in this case, Randy, and I'll be following up on the repairs very closely." Paul steered him down the hall, towards the access panel. "Why don't I show you want I've found so far – give you a bit of a head start on your estimate?"  
  
As they passed the ladies, Paul reached down and grabbed the ALS and glasses. He smiled at Catherine. "Do you mind if we borrow this? I think it will be very helpful."  
  
Catherine returned the smile and held out a handful of latex gloves. "You'll want these too."  
  
Hall looked back and forth between them and swallowed hard. "I understand there was a crime committed here."  
  
Catherine and Sara both glanced back into the living room, at the tape outline still on the carpet. Sara cocked her head as she explained. "The murder actually happened up in the attic. You'll see that when you're up there. The murderer then dropped the body down through the ceiling as part of his attack on the homeowner, Mr. Stokes."  
  
For a moment, Hall looked like he might bolt, then he straightened up and rubbed his palms on the rough texture of his corduroy slacks. "Well, let's see what we've got." He fumbled for a bit with the gloves before moving to the stepladder they had been using to get into the attic.  
  
Sara lifted one of the garbage bags she had filled from the refrigerator and walked through the still open door. Behind her Catherine grunted slightly as she picked up the other bag. It took them a bit to find Nick's trash can before they realized that he had planted several tall shrubs to hide it from view. Catherine tossed her bag into the can as Sara held the lid. "Any idea what day is pick up day around here?"  
  
Sara glanced up the tidy street. A scraping noise caught her attention and she pointed to an elderly woman several houses down who was dragging her garbage can to the curb. "Looks like we timed it right." The two women picked up their can and easily carried it down the driveway. Once they had it in place, they moved to help Nick's neighbor.  
  
"Thank you dears. I'd forgotten just how hard it is to move that old can by myself."  
  
Before Catherine could ask if she normally had help, the woman began to speak again. "I saw you at Nicky's house. Does that mean he'll be home soon?"  
  
Catherine looked over at Sara who just shrugged in response, so she worded her answer carefully until she knew more about this lady. "Nick is staying at a friend's place for a while." A suspicion began to form in her mind. She could see the gallant young man taking care of the frail woman. "Does Nick usually help you?"  
  
"If it wasn't for that sweet young man I would have had to go into a home after my Arthur passed away. He's been an absolute Godsend, and won't let me pay him a single dime for all he does. He just smiles that charming smile of his and says, 'Aunt Maggie, I would move mountains for a plate of your homemade cookies'. Isn't that the sweetest thing?" Maggie twisted her apron into a knot as she finally stopped to breathe, her eyes brimming with tears. "I was so scared when all those police cars came flying down the street the other night, and then when I looked out and saw the coroner's van…"  
  
Catherine found herself hugging Nick's adopted aunt. "He's going to be all right, really."  
  
"That's right, and the repairs will be done and he'll be home before you know it." Sara chimed in, also needing to comfort Maggie.  
  
"Will you be seeing him?"  
  
"We'll see him in the morning. Would you like us to give him a message?" Catherine patted the gnarled hand as she stepped back.  
  
Maggie noticeably brightened. "Oh, would you? Even better, I made his favorite cookies last night – would you take some to him?"  
  
"Of course we will." Even as she spoke, Catherine's attention was drawn back to Nick's house as Newsome and Hall could be seen walking down the driveway. She turned back to Maggie. "I've got to go check on something." Catherine gave Sara a meaningful look as she turned and trotted back to Nick's.  
  
Sara forced a smile as she offered her arm and escorted the elderly woman back to her house.  
  
By the time Catherine made her way back to the house Hall was pulling out of the driveway, so she turned her attention to Newsome. "Well?"  
  
Paul handed Catherine a stack of estimate forms and a business card. "Call this guy, he specializes in restorations. If the insurance company balks at anything, give me a call. I'll take care of it."  
  
"Thanks, Paul, I owe you." Catherine gave him a hug. "This means a lot to me."  
  
Sara walked up behind the pair. "Does this mean that the insurance company is going to pay for the repairs?" She balanced a plate of chocolate chip cookies in her hands.  
  
"Cookies?" Paul reached over Catherine's shoulder and snitched one before releasing her. She slapped his arm as he took a bite.  
  
"Hey, those are for Nick."  
  
Paul coughed and swallowed hard. "Are these to make him feel better?"  
  
"Actually, she makes them for him all the time. He mows her lawn, takes her to the store, and keeps up on all the repairs for her." Sara pulled the plate closer and tucked the plastic wrap back around it. "I think it's sweet that he won't accept anything except her homemade cookies."  
  
"Sweet? The guy's a saint." Paul stared at the remains of the cookie in his hand. "These are the worst cookies I've ever had in my life."  
  
Catherine gaped. "You've got to be kidding!" Behind her, Sara started laughing. 


	6. Revelations

Grissom pulled his SUV up to the curb in front of Jane Gallaway's house. A sleek sports car pulled in back of him. Gil waited for Professor Hamilton to exit the vehicle, then moved up onto the porch, ducking under the yellow tape that set this house apart from the rest of the homes on this quiet street.  
  
Hamilton joined him as he opened the police lock on the door. Once they were in the entryway, Hamilton turned back and fingered the three locks on the door. "Don't tell me anything yet. I want to get a feel for the place first."  
  
Gil opened his mouth to protest, then thought better of it and instead pulled out his cell phone to check his messages. He listened to various members of his team reported in as he watched Hamilton prowl through the house. He snapped the phone shut as Hamilton made his way back into the entry hall.  
  
"She obviously was terrified of her stalker. Most of what I see is a pretty typical reaction to being stalked. The foil on the windows is a different twist though."  
  
Grissom nodded. "That threw us at first, too. It seems to have been a last ditch effort to block him from knowing what she was doing."  
  
"He would get close enough to the house to look in the windows?" Hamilton moved closer to the nearest window and examined the carefully applied layer of aluminum foil that covered it. With a carefully manicured hand he peeled back one corner and stared out into the side yard. There was less than five feet between the window and the fence that separated Jane's yard from her neighbor's. "That is an unusually brazen move. How close to the end did he become that bold?"  
  
"He never looked in her windows. He had a closer vantage point." Grissom took off his jacket and dropped it over the back of the sofa. "I think it's time to show you what we never released to the press." Without additional explanation he moved to the bedroom, and from there entered the closet. Ignoring Hamilton's muffled 'what the hell?' he climbed up into the attic.  
  
Gil didn't say a word; he just moved to kneel next to the peephole into the living room and waited. When Hamilton arrived, he just pointed at the labeled plug.  
  
There were very few times in the course of a day that Mitchell Hamilton wasn't actively aware of his appearance. His position at the university and on the lecture circuit necessitated that he look the part of the sophisticated professor. Right now was one of those rare times. He'd snagged his sleeve climbing up into the attic, and now he was on his knees on the dusty attic floor. He didn't give his clothes a second thought as he bent down to look through the hole and observed the living room they had occupied just minutes before. The detail was amazing, from this viewpoint he could even see the teeth of the zipper on Grissom's coat, tossed earlier on the sofa below. He picked up the plug and examined it. The popcorn texture matched the ceiling perfectly, as did the color. Sliding it back into its hole proved how well it lined up. Hamilton twisted slightly to sit on the floor, resting his knees. "How many rooms was he watching?"  
  
"All of them." Grissom rubbed the back of his neck. "There wasn't a square foot of this house that he didn't have a way to watch. Not to mention the cameras, video equipment, and fiber optics. It's going to take us another week to go through the tapes we found at his apartment." He stood up, moving to the wall where Nigel had tapped into Jane's second line and lifted the receiver crudely wired into the phone lines. "Dozens of calls made to Jane from up here. He probably reported every move she made back to her."  
  
"Quite brilliant, actually." Hamilton stared off into the distance as he thought out loud. "The more frightened she became, the more she retreated into what she thought was the safety of her own home, unwittingly giving him more control over her."  
  
"A vicious circle, with Nigel controlling the pace." Gil angrily tossed the phone onto the floor. "She did everything we tell a stalking victim to do, and he used that to his advantage. By the time he made his move and killed her, she was probably so terrified that she couldn't function."  
  
Hamilton wandered through the attic, examining the world that Nigel Crane had built up there. Finally, he stopped and turned back to Grissom. "How did he get up here; where was his access?"  
  
Grissom moved over to the skylight and unhooked the latch. Rather than use the crank handle to open it, he just pushed on the framework. The handle spun freely as the Plexiglas moved up. "I did some checking. When this sub-division was built, this was the cheapest and the easiest way to vent an attic. All he had to do was be in the attic one time while he was installing her satellite cable and then he just made sure that it was unlatched when he left."  
  
"Fascinating, this guy will make an interesting case study." Hamilton seemed to be salivating at the thought and that angered Grissom.  
  
"With any luck, he'll rot in prison. How do we help his victim? That's my only concern right now."  
  
Hamilton gave a smile that struck Grissom as both shallow and condescending. "As I said, my associate, David Emerson is the one who treats the victims. My work is on the other end of the spectrum. If I can understand what makes someone like Nigel Crane tick, maybe I can stop the next Nigel before he gets to this point." He stopped the lecture and his smile warmed up a bit. "Dr. Emerson is very good at what he does. Your friend will be in good hands."  
  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
  
The alarm clock announced the passage of another hour, and Warrick gratefully struggled to his feet. The image of Nick flying through that window would be the subject of his nightmares for weeks to come, there was no doubt. The light seeping in around the drawn blinds was enough to illuminate his way as he moved towards the bedroom. Once there, he had to turn on the overhead light to get a better look at his temporary roommate. Nick was burrowed deeply under the covers, no part of him was visible.  
  
Warrick wasn't sure where to poke the lump on the bed, so he relied on his voice. "Nick, it's time to wake up." He took a breath and tried again. "Sorry, man, but we need to check that your brain isn't scrambled, so you gotta wake up."  
  
Just as Warrick started to become concerned, the covers moved and a hand appeared. The hand was raised with one finger vertical.  
  
"Okay man, I get the hint. See you in an hour." Warrick laughed softly waited until the hand retreated before turning off the light and closing the door behind him.  
  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
  
The Luna Cable truck was no longer in Nigel's driveway so Grissom parked there, maneuvering his Tahoe as far to the left as possible to give Hamilton room to park next to him. As the two men walked up the stairs, Gil explained why the window was boarded shut. Hamilton paused on the balcony to look down at the crushed shrubbery that had cushioned Nick's fall.  
  
Once the door was unlocked, Grissom moved to the side and allowed Hamilton to enter first. Hamilton turned around slowly, taking in the empty rooms. "I've heard of bachelor pads, but isn't this a bit empty even for that?"  
  
Gris merely pointed up. Hamilton looked up at the ceiling, then back at Grissom. "The attic? He lived in his own attic?" The stepstool that Nigel left behind made entry easy and soon the two men were up in Nigel's world. Hamilton ran a finger along an empty shelf as he gave a questioning look at Grissom.  
  
"All of those shelves were filled with video tapes. They're at the lab being examined, along with all the photos and his journals. They can't leave the lab, but after we've looked at all of them, I'll arrange for you to have access." Gil repressed a shudder. After the excitement of finding Nigel's lair had worn off, Gil found that the place really gave him the creeps – not that he would admit it to anyone.  
  
Hamilton could barely contain his excitement. "Thank you, that should be quite a study. I'd like to spend some time here later, but right now I'd like to see the home of the last victim."  
  
Gil nodded. "That's probably a good idea. Some of my people are over there right now cleaning up some of the damage."  
  
"Damage?"  
  
"Nigel's behavior was entirely different over there." Gil wearily sat on the only chair in the attic. "He never wore gloves, and he handled everything – handled and licked."  
  
"Like he was marking his territory?" Hamilton leaned against the bench that had once held video equipment and rubbed his jaw line. "Fascinating."  
  
"There's more. Evidence suggests that he had a sexual interest in Nick." Gris decided not to explain further, but to wait and show Professor Hamilton the evidence when they got there.  
  
Hamilton understood what Gil was telling him, and what he wasn't. "Was Nick alone, or did he have company while Crane was watching?"  
  
Gil thought about the question. "I honestly don't know." 


End file.
